Iris
by Lyra Raine Sparrow
Summary: He'd always wondered why she was so familiar. It wasn't until she said something that brought him back to that fateful year in high school and that kid in *three* of his classes… Sparrow. Joker/OC a little more than SlightJoker/Harley
1. Name

**IRIS  
Prologue – Name**

* * *

Scars are souvenirs you never lose, the past is never far.  
And did you lose yourself way out there?  
Did you get to be a star?  
Don't make you sad to know that life is more than who you are?  
Grew up way too fast and now there's nothing to believe.  
Reruns all become our history.  
A tired song keeps playing on a tired radio,  
And I won't tell 'em your name.

– "Name" Goo Goo Dolls

* * *

**February 15, 2013**

"MISTAH J!" Harley Quinn calls out from the door to the lair. "TEMPE AND I ARE BACK FROM OUR SHOPPING SPREE!"

"AND WE BROUGHT YA BACK SOME'N SPECIAL!" Temperance "Tempe" Bettencourt, the nuisance she is, screams from behind her new best friend, hands full of shopping bags. The blonde-pigtailed duo bounced into the room, throwing the bags on the empty couch. The Joker, who up until that point had been lounging lazily on the Lay-Z-Boy to the right of said couch, sat up and stretched, sucking nosily on his scars.

"You girls have fun?" he asks with mock enthusiasm.

"Of course we did Puddin'."

"We even got nice dresses to wear to that party for Harvey..." Tempe's voice drifted off for a moment as if she heard something worrisome. Her deep violet painted lips, however, pulled up into a smile. "I love this song! My high school sweetheart serenaded me with this song. At prom too! It was such an embarrassment to both of us! We left after that, I missed my crowning and everything. But we danced to the sounds of crickets in my tree-house for the rest of the night."

"Awww! Ain't that sweet Mistah J? I wish you would do that for me."

"Can it, Harls! I'm tryin' ta listen."

_I said maybe  
You're gonna be the one that saves me?  
And after all  
You're my wonderwall _

The sounds of the British band Oasis softly drifted from the beat up radio in the corner. The Joker was sure it was possessed. It never worked when you wanted and played at the most random of times, never sticking to one station for too long. No one bothered to unplug it. It added a sense of excitement to an otherwise dull lair. And that was saying something, seen as though it was the Joker's lair.

"You okay, Mistah J?" Tempe asks, giggling when she realized what she said rhymed.

But the Joker didn't hear her. He was to far into his own memories, trying to figure out why his own heart leapt at the sound of the song. For the life of him he couldn't think of a sane reason (he had to chuckle at that. Sane... HA!) as to why it bothered him so much. It was like a dull throbbing ache in the back of his mind. Something told him it was important to remember, but the memory was locked so very deep within the bowels of his memory palace.

Tempe waved her hands in front of his face, failing at snapping with both.

The Joker blinked back to Earth and frowned at the annoying woman. "You know I hate when you do that, dollface..."

That insignificant little endearment is what proved to be the catlytic key to the dungeon door that released an empowering remembrance of a woman who knew the truth behind his scars; who had scars of her own. A woman he once stayed up with for three - no, five - days to watch 90210 from begining to end. A woman who, within a milisecond, had claimed his – and he hated to admit this, even way back then – _heart._

* * *

_**A/n: Alright. Be nice here guys. I'm new to this ficdom. And before we get too far, I do realize that the Joker will be really OOC for a while. He'll become more "Jokery" as the story progresses. I promise. And if he doesn't feel free to flame all you want. I actually prefer them over the praises. I know I'm not perfect, don't treat me as such.**_

_**Ciao, Lyra**_


	2. All That I Am

**Chapter I**

**All That I Am**

* * *

But the nights can't hide the days  
That the tears roll down her face  
And the light hits those eyes  
As she's dying to say  
Just take me away from all that I am

– "All that I am" Parachute

* * *

August 25, 1996

Sparrow walked through the school hallways with her head down far enough for people to not notice the frighting jagged scar that marred her face – it went from an inch below the outside corner of her left eye to and inch and a half over the inside corner of her right one – but high enough to not run into people. Self-consciously she pulls down the sleeves of her sweater though it was 80-something degrees outside. Not that it helped much. Everyone knew what was hidden beneath the knit sleeves of the beige sweater. She hated school because of it too. Since everyone knew, they all treated her like a charity case. Like she needed endless attention and affection. Not at all, she got that at home. Her dad had enough affection for both her parents. She was the one the inflicted the pain onto herself. Not the scar of course, that was her mother.

With that in mind, Sparrow chews on her lip and tries to pay attention to her Walkman. The sound flowing from her headphones, that of Goo Goo Dolls "Name," her favorite song, blocked out the whispers of rumors about what had happened the previous summer. She'd made it to homeroom with out much incident. There were a few people who tried to get her attention but she just clenched her fists tighter and strode on. She took her seat next to the window and stared out at the large field than butted up behind the school. Near the far left corner a large oak tree sat alone begging for a friend, and perhaps one day, long ago, let us hope, it did have one, much like Sparrow. And, much like Sparrow, at a certain age that friend was removed from the picture. Not that it bothered Sparrow much, she knew friends came and went.

As students filed into the classroom the separated into their respective cliques. The Jocks and Populars stood closest to the door sort of intermingled. Being the captain of the Cheerleading squad, she naturally fit in there, but with the skeptical looks she was given, she wasn't so sure she was welcomed anymore. The Band geeks sat in the back grumbling about how they hated that school was back in, yet were excited for the start of football season, the Nerds sat in the three left most seats of the first two rows talking about the new Crash Bandicoot game that Sony released for Playstation over the summer and whether they thought it better than the Mario game (the guys were dead set on Mario, while the two girls were confused as to the appeal of a short, fat Italian plumber), and in the center of the room, were the Artists. They sat in a sort of circle passing around each others' sketchbooks and enjoying the constructive criticism they received. Of course being in high school there were more cliques than one could count, just this class was particularly made of only these five – six if you count Sparrow's semi-loner status – groups. Sometimes Sparrow wondered if the administration did this on purpose.

The tardy bell rang announcing the beginning of school and Sparrow slips her headphones off just as Principal Phillips comes over the intercom sounding less than enthused.

"Hello fellow Gotham High Phoenixes! Welcome back for what is to be another great year! Just wanted to remind you that our first pep rally will be immediately after school on Friday. Hope to see every one in attendance wishing our Fighting Phoenixes luck on the first game of the season. Have an absolutely astounding day!"

The teacher walked in and everyone took their seats, the Artists coming to surround Sparrow save for the seat just to the right of her. The teacher, Ms. Freedman, handed out the new schedules calling out a name every now and then. The groans around the classroom were echoed throughout the halls as everyone was reminded of the change in schedules (again). The previous year they'd gone with a schedule that consisted of eight classes a day rather than the block schedule they were used to. Four periods a day instead of eight. Meaning they were stuck in the same class for an hour and a half rather than the forty-five minute periods like the years prior. Four classes one semester, then four different the next. There were a few classes that were year long, however. Sparrow's AP Visual Arts IV as well as her AP Theater IV class for instance were year long.

Not that this really pertained to her, her classes consisted of all electives this year, and technically if she didn't take AP Art then she'd graduate in January. But she did, so she can't. The bell rang quite literally a minute after Ms. Freedman finished passing out all the agendas.

Sparrow gathered her stuff and left the classroom. From the look of her schedule, all of her classes this year would be on the arts hallway save for Newspaper so she'd pick out her locker between classes. Not that she really needed one, she didn't mind carrying all her things, it was more that she'd prefer not to. Plus it was cheerleading season so she'd need a place to put her pompoms.

The smell of acrylic paint dispersed through the room, a tale tale sign that Mrs. Anderson had already started with one of the art classes' projects. Sparrows pink stained lips draw up into a long forgotten smile.

"Good morning, Mrs. A," Sparrow calls to the aging woman at the front.

"Morning, Ms. Waters," the teacher calls back. She doesn't turn and for once Sparrow's grateful.

She walks over to her favorite seat in the studio and pulls her sketchbook out of her bag setting to work on her latest portrait. The class files in shortly after. Each calling to their favorite teacher before choosing their seat for the year. Everyone avoided Sparrow's table. Not because of the rumors, not because of the scar that now marred her face, nor the self-induced cuts on her wrist, but because they liked to talk like so many teenagers do and Sparrow so often snapped at them when they tried to talk to them, especially while she was working on her art.

The class was full by the time the two minute bell rang. And Mrs. Anderson, never one for wanting to be behind in any class, decided to start class. She disappeared into her office for a moment, during which the sliding of a chair across from Sparrow catches her attention. She glances up, fully prepared to ask the kid what thought was going through their head. Everyone knew to stay away from Sparrow in art. Even those who'd never stepped foot into the art room knew.

But her question died in her throat when she looked to the intruder. His semi-greasy dirty blonde hair covered the right side of his face, mirroring Sparrow's. His eyes were brown, a very pretty brown, she noted.

_Kinda like Johnny Depp's but different._

She wasn't the only one who stared either. Whispers had begun to circle the room about the poor chap. Even Mrs. A had paused in her doorway for the briefest of seconds. The ringing of the tardy bell melted the ice in Mrs. A's stance.

She walked to the closest table and plopped half a globe still attached to the stand on it.

"This year, you'll be doing something different. As seniors, you have to really work on your portfolios for college applications. Yes it's that time of year. We can't all be Waters' and Waynes'." She smiles at Sparrow. "For the past three years, you've been given free reign and a creative license to do what ever you wanted as long as your piece stayed within the parameters of the project I have given you. Well that's about to change."

A collective groan sounded throughout the room.

"In the globe are little slips of paper. Each of you will choose one. No trading, no swapping, what you pick, is what you get. You'll get a list of mediums you have to use. As long as you use all the mediums I don't care what order you go in. However, use you time wisely, you'll each need twenty-four pieces and one you worked collaboratively with another student on."

Another groan.

"Taking into account that there are thirty-six weeks in a school year, this shouldn't be a problem."

She makes quick work on having the whole class pick out a paper. Students whisper and make assumptions on what the paper meant. It took all of three minutes to get to Sparrow's table.

"Alright, last two."

Both Sparrow and her surprise guest move to grab one but freeze when they see the other lift their hand.

The boy clears his throat. "Ladies first."

Sparrow gives a slight smile and reaches into the globe. The paper she retrieves is folded in half. She looks up at the teacher and back down to the paper.

**CRENÇA**

She frowns deeply. "Crença?"

"You are fluent in Portugeese correct?"

Sparrow nods.

"Then you understand." Mrs. A smiles at her. "Mr. Napier, I have a feeling yours fits quite nice as well."

He looks down at his slip and gives and imperceptible nod.

"Good. Now class," she begins as she walks to the front of her classroom, "each of the papers have an object or a feeling or a concept. You each have the whole year to come up with twenty-four pieces centralized around that theme." She picks up a stack of papers and hands them to another student. "I'm sending Craig around with the list of mediums that you are being required to use. On your mark, get set, go."

"How the hell am I supposed to convey crença?"

"Language, Sparrow."

"Sorry Mrs. A."

"What's it mean?"

Sparrow looks up. "Pardon?"

"Cran-sa, what does it mean?"

The mispronunciation brings a smile back to her face. "Credence."

He doesn't reply, leaving sparrow to think he really didn't care and was just trying to make mindless chatter. She sets the slip aside and returns to her portrait.


	3. Unwell

Jack walks into his fourth period class. (**A/n: ****That has to be the worst sentence I have ever written. But I'm going to leave it because I can randomly ****stick an A/N in here. I hate when authors do that. Hence the reason I have formatted the chapter this way. Just have to apologize for the really long hiatus! I have been sooo busy with school and stuff ****(stuff meaning the Sherlockian story I wrote for April Camp Nanowrimo and moving before that)****. Thanks to every one who's read this and favorited. But I just have to ask one thing... Could I get a review? PLEASE? I'd love you even more! And now back to the story! -LRS**)

* * *

**Chapter II  
****Unwell**

And I know, I know they've all been talking about me  
I can hear them whisper  
And it makes me think there must be something wrong with me  
Out of all the hours thinking  
Somehow I've lost my mind

- "Unwell" matchbox twenty

**August 26, 1996**

After a long drawn out day of syllabuses and unimaginative ice breakers, Theater IV was a welcomed class. Though he planned on keeping to the back like he did in all his other classes A head of blonde hair a few rows up caught his eye. She was hunched over on her desk, her head resting on her crooked left arm as her right sketched away.

He stepped cautiously towards her peering over her shoulder to see what she was sketching this time. She had moved on from the self-portrait she had been working on in art and choosing now to work on a sketch of a pair of eyes. They were colorless of course, being simply a sketch, but he could tell they were meant to be a deep blue color. The eyes took up the whole page, not giving room for the rest of the face, yet somehow she managed to give them life and emotion.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you looming over someone's shoulder is entirely impolite?"

Her voice isn't what he expected. It's sardonic and sharp unlike how it was in their class earlier.

"My mother taught me a lot of things."

Sparrow sighed, annoyed, and picked up her head, flipping closed her sketchbook. "But apparently not that. What do you want Mr. Napier?"

"Am I not allowed to admire a fellow student's artwork?" Jack asked.

"Not when it involves looking over my shoulder like a stalker." When he didn't make to move she glared at him, her sapphire eyes darkening, sending a shiver down his spine. The scar over lapping her eye didn't help either.

He took the seat next to her, smirking when she huffs in disapproval.

Less than a minute later, the teacher walked into the room and smiled with her hand on her hips.

"I love this," Mrs. Freedman breathes. "A full ledger and everyone is already here. So who's ready to act?!"

There was a round of whoops and cat calls.

This brings a bigger smile to the teacher's face. She picks up a thin stack of papers and starts to pass them out. "Now I know that you all are tired of paper work and sitting, but I need you guys to fill out this sheet, legal reasons and all that. Once you're done I need all of you to stand and push the desks to the edge of the class room since the auditorium is still under renovations."

It's just another student information form. The same information for every teacher. Name, address, phone number, parents names and contact information, class, schedule, and for this one, hobbies, favorite movies/plays/music, has he ever been casted in any production(s), if so which one(s) and what character(s). Easy enough.

He makes quick work of the sheet, by now the answers seem almost cookie-cutter. He can't resist a glance over to his neighbor and her sheet. If he was being honest it was the faint scratching of her fountain pen that called for his attention. Her writing, though unreadable from his vantage point, seemed fluid and fanciful.

"Come on guys, you're all seniors, you should have this down pat by now. I know it's fourth period but still. It's the same questions as years prior."

Sparrow caps her pen and drops it in her small pocket book dangling on the back of her chair. She stands and plops her book bag in her chair before she she begins to shove the empty desks to the outer areas. It's the catalyst that the summer-drunk students need to get going. Soon, everyone is standing in a circle.

Mrs. Freedman claps here hands. "Unfortunately we have a smaller group. I blame the other AP classes BUT! Twelve students is plenty for a Theater IV class in my opinion, just not preferred." She glances about the circle. "So first things first, an icebreaker and then get on to more fun theater games. String Toss or Two Truths and a Lie?"

"The former, of course," Sparrow speaks. Her voice is back to the respectful, but relaxed tone she used in art. "Then we know when everyone's lying."

A brunette next to her quirks a brow. "We've all know each other for at least four years, I think we all know each other pretty well."

"Not everyone," she replies sparing a glance to a few kids. "Mark transferred halfway through sophomore year. And Stephanie came a month after. And let's not forget Mr. Newbie over there," she pointed directly across the circle.

The other girl, Heather, rolls her eyes. "Fine."

"Okay..." Mrs. Freedman stated. "Now that the two resident drama queens have agreed... String Toss it is. Any objections? No? Good." She turns around briefly to pull a ball of yarn off her desk. "Two questions per person and no two questions can be alike. Oh, and keep it school appropriate." She grabs the end and tosses it to a ginger girl. "Megan, favorite color and favorite thing you did this summer?"

"Um..." the girl looked down at the fuzzy purple ball. "Pink and I went camping in the Catskills."

In turn, Megan tossed the ball to another kid who tossed it to another kid before it was tossed to Sparrow.

"Alright, what's your favorite band and how'd you get the scar?" the kid asks, a mischievous yet hopeful glint in his eyes.

She stiffens. A haunted look graces her eyes perhaps mixed with a hint of anger, not unlike the eyes in the sketch Jack observed earlier. "Goo Goo Dolls," she snaps. "And I reserve my right not to answer the question. So if you would like to change the question now's your chance." There was hardly any time for the poor kid to speak before she let loose a sarcastic, "No? Pity."

Jack glances at the poor kid as he cowers away.

"Mr. Napier," Sparrow growled tossing the ball harder than she probably should have. He stumbles with catching the ball, having been off guard. "Where are you from?" Her tone is softer with the question; an apology.

"New York," Jack replies, "the city. But Metropolis before that."

"So, your originally from Metropolis?" Mrs. Freedman questions.

"Actually, I'm originally from Gotham. But I've moved around a lot since then."

"Oh," she sounds surprised, "in that case; Welcome Back."

Jack gives her a nod and turns back to his questioner. He tilts his head and shoots her a smile. "Next question."

She smirked back. "What'd you think? Of my art, I mean. Seen as though you're always watching me draw."

He shrugged and tossed the ball to the next kid.

* * *

_**A/n: UGH! Sorry about the lateness (And shortness) of this chapter. When I started this way back when, I hadn't planned on school kicking my ass... However, you guys have prom to thank for this chapter. Love yous guys! See you probably sometime in the summer!**_


	4. Interlude I

**I am soo sorry! This is really short and very, very, very, very late!**

**WARNING!: There is self-harm in this chapter. Not very graphic. But if you want to skip it, it's after the second page break.**

**Interlude I**

**Broken**

"Cause I'm broken when I'm open

And I don't feel like I am strong enough

'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome

And I don't feel right when you're gone away"

- "Broken" Seether ft. Amy Lee

* * *

**Feburary 29, 2013**

Deep sapphire eyes watched from over head as a haunted look graced the face of the man below. There's a blue-eyed blonde vying for his attention on his right but the man pays no attention. A crisp smirk forms on the reddened lips of the spying woman as it's clear to her the man wants nothing to do with blonde below.

"You know," she calls down to them, "your relationship reminds me of my own in the beginning. We couldn't stand each other."

Harley looks up to her dear friend with a smile on her face. She did always enjoy the little anecdotes Tempe told.

"It was like a week into school when we were paired up for a project. It sucked because neither of us could be in the same room with the other without biting heads off. I think it was because he was this popular guy, like untouchable according to the food chain, and I was just this new kid that was deemed strange and unusual. I got picked on, a lot. But that all changed one day."

"What happened?" Harley asked. There was an intrigued glint in her eyes that was mimicked by the scarred clown beside her.

"Spill it, doll-face," Joker says semi-sarcasticly.

Temperance gives a sheepish smile. Her eyes lift to the bare wall across from her and she gazes there distantly. "I-I don't really remember..." Her voice lost the high-pitched squeal it normally had. A bright smile tugs at her lips a second later and she's beaming down at them once again.

"He was best friends with this really rich girl, before we met of course." She crossed her arms on the bar of the balcony and laid her head down. "And he once took me to one of her parties after we started dating. That girl was beautiful, stunning, and he liked her, a lot a lot. And of course I was jealous, I mean here was this beautiful million-dollar heiress and then there was me, the broken nobody whose only taste of popularity was shallow because she was dating the captain of the football team. There was no way I could compete with that..." The smile was replaced by a frown as Tempe stood. "I'm boring you aren't I? You really don't care about my past. I'm sorry."

The blonde disappeared from the railing a moment later. The sound of a door slamming reached the couple's ears a minute later.

"I wonder why she does that, only tells half a story before running off."

The Joker stares after her. He's silent, though his mind races around and around. There was something about how Temperance only told half the story. She was being deliberately detailed with only certain details and the rest never came. It infuriated him beyond belief.

* * *

Temperance stares at herself in the shattered mirror in her room. Black tears fall from her red, puffy eyes, not scarlet, just red. Her eyes travel to the pair of razor blades lying on the counter next to the bottle of soap. The metal is icy in her hands and it stings when drawn across her skin. Three new wounds are added to the cacophony of scars on her wrist. The pain follows the scarlet liquid down the drain. There's a bittersweet smile on her lips when she returns her gaze to the mirror. She can't stand it and her fist finds the shattered glass and it showers her.

Her sobs are no longer silent as she falls to the floor.


End file.
